Knock on the Sky
by skywriter55
Summary: He lifted his gaze cautiously, hoping he wouldn't get caught staring. She stood at the fence, her figure back-lit by the fading Georgian sun. Long hair blew about her face; dark chocolate eyes looked like gems in the light. She had a wide smile, a loyal heart, and secrets that were eating her alive. Witness the journey of a girl who becomes a part of Rick's group at the prison.
1. Chapter 1

**Overview: **A girl who escaped the Governor at Woodbury has stumbled upon Rick Grimes' group in the prison in her desperation to get away from her old life. After a tense confrontation, she learns to live with the group at the old prison just as they learn to accept and love her. When Woodbury comes knocking, however, the bonds of friendship and dedication are tested in more ways than one.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything about the Walking Dead—bummer for me, because then I'd be crapping money. I just like to play with all of the characters. No copyright intended.

**CHAPTER ONE: I FOUND A PLACE**

_Run. Run. Keep running._

_ My feet hurt._

_No they don't. Run. Run._

That was the only thing on Windsor's mind.

The seventeen-year-old girl was sprinting through the gray brick underground, willing her eyes to adjust enough to see clearly in the dark. There was light coming from somewhere, but from where, she didn't know. All she knew was that she had to find a way out of the maze that trapped her now.

Windsor slipped on a puddle—was that blood?—and tripped her way around the next corner. A walker wearing a prison jumpsuit turned, jaws gaping and ready. She jabbed up and out with one fluid motion, catching the beast under the jaw. The long blade went up into the brain. The beast stopped moving and snarling immediately. She shoved it down, dodged past another, and continued to run. Her face was twisted into a mask of desperation and fear.

She'd been on the run for only two days before stumbling upon the prison. During childhood trips to Georgia she'd been told not to wander west, where the institution was, so she had been shocked that she could find it with no navigation through the dangerous forest. And to see that it had been open… well, to say that it was a change in luck was an understatement. She'd escaped a living hell and wasn't sure if she could do so again. Against her best judgment, she was beginning to hope that it would be a place for her. Nothing would be a fit place for anything if she never escaped the basement, though.

The scene plaguing the girl was straight out of a horror movie. She was alone in the basement of an abandoned prison, running from the undead. However, she would much rather be followed by the undead than the living. What had happened to Windsor made her afraid of everything with a heartbeat.

Her loud panting echoed through the frightening hallways. Her pounding feet smacked hard on the ground as she ran and dodged walkers. She was far faster, but each beast she passed then turned and began to amble mindlessly after her. A crowd of sorts was amassing. If she turned the wrong way, she'd go further away from the light only to be trapped by all of these walkers. And each passing moment was a moment her strength and endurance waned.

_Oh no._ She skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway she was running down. It split two ways; she had to choose quickly. Though she heard no snarling immediately behind her, each direction posed a threat and she only had a 50 percent chance of choosing the path that would lead her out. She couldn't stay down here for any longer. The very air felt like it was constricting, shrinking in. She couldn't stay quiet—she was sure that every walker in this place had heard her by now.

Windsor figured that the more cluttered hallway indicated more traffic, and therefore was her ticket out. She turned to the right and continued running. The brief pause had allowed her to feel all the pains in her body. A vicious cramp was taking precedence in her mind. Her throat was scrubbed raw from breathing so hard and so fast. Windsor felt fire burning down her back from the long wound that continued to ooze blood even though it was nearly two days since she'd gotten it. Her head felt too heavy and empty all at once. All of the running wasn't helping.

Her large backpack, strapped to her back securely, suddenly let out a loud beep. That had to be her walkie-talkie—someone was trying to reach her, but she was a little preoccupied. "Shut up!" she wheezed at the contraption while taking another turn.

Against all odds, the light was getting brighter. Now she could definitely see which path would lead her up and out. With renewed vigor, Windsor pumped her arms faster, willing her body to remember that it used to play sports pre-apocalypse. In seconds she'd reached a long metal staircase that led to a door. After yanking on the handle for a few endless moments, she saw that she hadn't unlatched the door properly. Once she took care of that, she heaved with all of her strength and managed to get the door open enough that she could slide through.

The room she was in now was one of those tiny boxes meant for prison guards to lock one door before opening the next into the rest of the prison; thankfully for Windsor, it was empty. She dug her heels in and heaved with all of her strength in order to latch the nearly four-inch thick metal door shut. Not long after, walkers had made their way up the stairs and were bumping into the metal, scratching fruitlessly at the other side. Though they piled up, thumping along the door, they could find no purchase.

"Thank God," she gasped out. She sank down into her knees, feeling a cold sweat break out all over her body. It took a long while for her to catch her breath. Nausea swelled in her gut, threatening to take over; she took more gulps of breath as she waited for the feeling to subside.

_I'm safe. That's all that matters._

The warm, sticky feeling of blood dripped down to the waistband of her jeans. She reached around to her back—it was now entirely drenched in the thick red substance. Windsor took in even more deep breaths to try and keep herself calm. As it was, the situation was upsetting her more and more. She'd gotten trivial medical supplies, but nothing that could handle the eight-inch cut that slashed across her shoulder and upper arm.

She wobbled to her feet and opened the second door. The crisp, cool scent of the air cleared her head enough that she could drag herself over to one of the benches and sit. While she unstrapped her pack, she looked about. The gray cinderblocks blended together comfortingly. Tall, high windows threw dappled light onto the room. She was nearly warm. The feeling was so foreign, so comforting, that she was content to just sit for a minute.

The walkie-talkie beeped again. So eager was Windsor that she nearly shoved the device into her mouth to answer. "Hello?" Her breathless voice echoed in the empty room.

"Windsor? Windsor, are you okay?"

She covered her eyes in relief, nearly brought to tears. "Thank God." She was slumped alone in the room. Little did she know that the group that inhabited the prison was walking together towards the doors that would lead them inside the cellblock.

"Are you okay? Windsor, where are you?"

"If you can believe it, I found a place not far. It's this giant—"

A shout and a crash came from the other end. Windsor jerked her spine straight, eyes wide, as she stared at the wall. Her blood pressure rose.

"Hello?"

Static.

Windsor asked again, louder this time, "Hello? Brent?" Dark eyes flitted about as she listened with bated breath.

After more muffled scuffling, a different, lower voice answered her. "Hello, Windsor."

The girl went rigid; her face went slack. Her mouth opened in a little "o" of horror. Her hands began to tremble and she opened and closed her lips, though no sound came out.

The male continued pleasantly. "We found out about your little escaping act, sweetie. Too bad your friend here was caught stealing the walkie-talkie."

"Don't… p-please," Windsor choked out. No other words came to her mind in that moment.

"You're a selfish girl, Windsor. Your actions cause problems for others too. Try to keep that in mind… because when we find you, your life is over."

Black spots overtook Windsor's vision. It was too much for her body and mind to handle. She was weak from nutrition deficiency, blood loss, and stress; her brain refused to take any more. She sagged forward, letting go of the walkie-talkie, as her eyes shut. She thudded onto the floor with a loud crash. Windsor was happy to welcome the darkness as her eyes shut.

**AN: **How'd ya like it so far? Feedback is appreciated, dear readers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Walking Dead. I'm just jumping into the fray of walkers and manipulating the story. No copyright infringement intended.

**CHAPTER TWO: WHO THE HELL'S THIS?**

"Daryl, will you hand me that lock?"

Daryl Dixon lifted his narrow eyes to Rick Grimes, who'd asked for the metal device. He strolled over to his friend standing at the fence. Rick was standing with his weight on one hip, chewing on his lip pensively. His brown shirt was filthy and sweat-stained.

"You think this'll be enough to keep 'em out?" Daryl looked sideways while handing the lock over to Rick. The other man twisted his mouth as he looked outside. The wide green expanse of grass, which had previously been used for the prisoners to wander in, was now simply space between the living and the dead. Watch towers stood in three or four places, empty but helpful if need be. The barbed wire on top of the chain links swayed gently in the breeze.

Daryl was referring to the fences surrounding the prison. They were in the courtyard at the moment, which was behind two fences. There was a third layer of chain-link where the cellblocks were. Rick gave his friend a profound look as he snapped the lock shut over the zipties that held a gap in the fence closed.

"It better be." Rick raised his hand to shield the sun from his eyes and scanned the territory. It looked safe enough. There were a few stray walkers, but they snarled and pawed at the fence to no avail. It was safe enough—for now. "Lori's due soon."

Daryl nodded, sighing. The prison they'd found was possibly the best thing to happen to them during the apocalypse. All of their hideouts to this point had turned out to be lies or false hopes. The Atlanta camp, the CDC, the farm… they'd all fallen to the walker's brute herds. None of them had been metal and stone like the prison. Against his better judgment, he was allowing himself to believe they could stay.

"Let's go back in. Hershel should be startin' his walk." The reminder of Hershel Greene sobered the duo's spirits. A few days ago, while infiltrating the prison, Hershel had been bitten in the calf by a stray lurker. Though Rick had gotten to him in time to cut his lower leg off, he wasn't out of the woods yet. He'd lost a huge amount of blood. There was still the possibility of infection; they had no medicine to treat that with.

The two began walking back. Daryl squinted into the sun and shouted, "Glenn! Carl! We're going in."

Glenn Rhee and Carl Grimes abandoned what they were doing to accompany their friends into the prison. Rick threw an arm around his son, holding him close. His son was one of the only things in this world that still gave him cause to smile. The boy's floppy brown hair curled from underneath his hat and his eyes still held a sparkle.

He said, "You know you're gonna have a younger brother or sister in a few days."

The boy rolled his eyes from under the brim of his father's patrol hat. "Yeah, Dad. I know."

"What do you think it's gonna be?"

Carl answered without hesitation. "A girl. She'll be a girl."

"You sure?"

The boy smiled. "I always wanted a little sister."

Daryl gave him a sideways grin. "Sure, girls're cute when they're young, but when they grow up? Ain't as levelheaded as we are." His sharp words earned him a playful slap on the back of the head from Rick. All four men smiled now. Easy banter and casual strides weren't something they could afford on the road.

A loud, piercing scream sounded from inside the cellblock, shattering the previous calm. "Rick!"

He burst into a dead sprint, running for the sound of his wife's call. Carl and Daryl were hot on his heels while Glenn held the door open. Each of them pulled a gun, heading for where they saw their group huddled in the common cell.

"Lori! Lori, what…" Rick trailed off as he skidded to a stop next to his wife. Each of the men halted, incredulous at the scene before them.

Lori Grimes was crouched down beside a limp body: it was a young girl, a stranger. Blood was in a trail from the door to one of the cement tables and pooled underneath her still form. Dark brown hair, nearly black, fanned around her head like a halo. She had deathly pale skin and a slack, calm face. Carol Peletier and Maggie Greene were busy turning her over and freeing her from her large backpack. Her jeans, boots, and plaid shirt seemed too commonplace for the surreal scene she was in now.

"Who the hell's this?" demanded Daryl. Though the unconscious girl was clearly out cold, he hefted his crossbow and loaded it. The scene was all too familiar for them. When they'd found the prison, four former prisoners had emerged from the prison's depths. More strangers wasn't something they'd counted on. Their nerves were worn thin from Hershel's incident; the levels of stress were far too high.

The three women kept working, ignoring the men. It was chaotic. Once they had the girl free from the bag, they came upon the source of the blood. A vicious rip had torn her skin from the upper arm down across her shoulder blade. Carol swore.

"We need bandages, towels, anything." The older woman's voice was nothing but steel as she looked up. "There has to be something left from when we treated Hershel. Carl, go get the towel out of my bag. Beth, you get my bed ready. We've gotta get her somewhere comfortable." Beth and Carl exited the cell. They had to jostle a little to get past Glenn and Rick, who were simply standing there with their mouths open.

"For God's sake, move," snapped Maggie. They parted so that the doorway was open.

Lori reached into the girl's bag, hoping for water. "We need to get her awake. Rick, can you find me some water?"

Maggie leaned around the group and shouted, "Daddy! We need you!"

Rick crouched down and took the bag from his wife. He rooted around and located a half-full jug of water with ease. Lori resumed her work over the still girl, brushing her long brown locks away from her face. She lightly tapped her cheeks, hoping for a response. "Sweetie?" More tapping. "Can you wake up?"

"Aw, for Christ sake," muttered Daryl. He strode over, dropped beside Lori, and gave the stranger a proper smack on the side of the head.

Though Lori reprimanded him, it worked. The girl jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath. She had large dark eyes that nearly matched her hair. Her eyes unfocused, crossed, and uncrossed before she became aware of her surroundings. Her eyes first saw Rick, sitting to her right with a gun held loosely in his right hand. Her breathing kicked up to a high rate when her gaze found his weapon. Panic washed over her features.

Like lightning, she twisted her body and reached for a knife that had fallen not far away. Daryl saw what she would do before she did it; he lunged out with one leg and kicked it away while holding her wrists down. "Hey, hey, we're not gonna hurt you unless you do somethin' stupid. Okay?"

Her dark eyes met his stormy blues and abruptly went blank. She gasped in a scratchy voice, "Merle?"

Daryl's face dropped into a mask of shock. "What?" He couldn't believe his ears.

"What's going on?" Hershel limped in, supported by his younger daughter. Maggie caught the towels Carl threw at her and shoved them underneath the girl's shoulder to stop some of the blood. Meanwhile, the girl had apparently passed out again. Daryl released her limp wrists, still stunned by what she'd said. He let himself be shoved to the side as they picked her up and rushed her to Carol's bed.

_Merle._ Could it be? Against all odds, had his brother managed to survive?

That had to be the only explanation. Daryl had no idea who this girl was, so she wasn't a part of Merle and Daryl's childhood. She was definitely too young to have been a girlfriend, and too old to be the child of a girlfriend. So he came to the conclusion that she'd have met Merle Dixon in the past months.

How was it possible that he was still alive, though? After Rick and the others had cuffed him to that rooftop in Atlanta, Merle had sawed off his own right hand in order to escape the walkers. Sure, they'd found the empty cuffs and his detached hand, but never once had they seen Merle. Daryl had tried to come to peace with the fact that his brother had died.

Daryl shook his head sharply to rouse himself. He reached over, picked up his crossbow, and heaved himself to his feet. That could be dealt with when she woke up—and now he made it his priority that she wake up. If she was the only thing that could lead him back to his brother then he would do whatever it took.

He strode over to where Lori and Carol had her laying on her front. Hershel was seated beside her on a stool, readying a needle. "She needs stitches immediately," he said calmly. His unruffled demeanor took down everyone's panic a couple of notches. Carl relaxed against his mother's side and Rick finally holstered his gun. Glenn stood behind Maggie with comforting hands on her shoulders.

The girl's shirt was completely red and brown with blood, though no one offered to take it off. The thought of her utter panic if she awoke with no shirt on wasn't something anyone wanted to face.

Hershel set to attending to the girl's wound. As he worked intently, he asked, "What happened?"

Lori answered without pulling her eyes from the still girl. "We heard a thump and a crash from that room—she was sitting and she passed out. We think she somehow came from the basement."

"How would she have been down there?" Rick looked back over his shoulder at the room she came from, as though that would give him an answer.

"I don't know. Maybe there's a way to get into the prison that we don't know about—there's no way she was down there for long. Either way, she's darn smart. Closed both doors behind her and everything."

Glenn queried, "Was she bit?" Everyone in the room tensed at his words. Hershel's predicament was far too fresh in their minds for any of them to handle another bite victim. Hershel's hands wavered for an instant before he regained his composure.

Carol shook her head fervently. "No. That was the first thing we checked for, and she's got no fever."

Everyone was silent after that until Hershel declared that he was done. His stitches certainly weren't of medical standards, but her wound already looked better than it had. If it stopped the bleeding, it would save her life.

"Looks like a knife wound," remarked Hershel as he stood shakily. He himself had not yet recovered from his leg amputation. As he was running a hand over his white beard, he examined her. "And she looks like she's been pretty comfortable."

"What do you mean?" Carl asked. He hung on one of the posts of the bed curiously. He hadn't seen someone near his age in years, and the new girl intrigued him.

"Her nails are cut, her hair is clean, her clothes—well, her shoes and jeans at least—are clean. She hasn't been on the road, that's for sure." He ran his eyes over her one more time. "Maybe she had a group too."

Heavy footsteps behind them sounded and stopped behind the group. T-Dog had been outside making sure the field was able to hold crops and in doing so had missed the commotion. He pulled his sweat-drenched bandana away from his face with incredulous eyes.

"Whoa. Who's this?"

Lori sighed, running a hand through her wavy dark hair. "We don't know. She was stuck in the basement cells and somehow got up here."

Beth appeared behind the gaggle of people. Her blonde hair was stuck to her cheeks from all of the running back and forth; she held up the girl's fallen backpack. "I got her bag and her weapons."

Rick took it from her, ready to open the largest flap to sift through. Lori glared at him and snapped, "Don't."

"What if there's something dangerous in here?"

"Like what?" Lori held up one of the girl's weapons. Rick took it from her gently and dropped it in the backpack. "More kitchen knives? Maybe a change of clothes? Don't go through her things, Rick. She's just a kid. Let's wait until she wakes up, okay?"

Rick set his mouth as he stared at his wife. He didn't like not knowing the girl who'd randomly shown up in their new home, but he couldn't deny her, especially when she leaned in and whispered, "What if it was Carl?"

He sighed. "Fine. But as soon as she wakes up, we ask her questions. She seemed fine when she went for that knife."

Lori gave him the smile she knew won his affection. "Thank you." With a quick peck on the cheek, she turned around and grabbed her son's hand. "Let's go get Carol a place to sleep. You too, Beth."

Beth and Carl disappeared with Lori while Glenn and Maggie slipped away quietly. Now there were five in the room, including the sleeping girl. They stared silently for a long while. Daryl turned his crossbow over and over in his hands, staring at the girl's face.

Rick looked at his friend. The surly man didn't even blink when Rick asked, "You don't think she meant your brother, do you?"

"She must have. It had to be. She looked right into my eyes, like that's what made her think I was Merle." When he looked up at Rick, the latter couldn't help but feel for him. The hope in his face was obvious, and for a moment Daryl was just a child longing for his older brother. "I have to keep hopin'."

Rick clapped a hand on his shoulder before leaving in search of his family. He wanted Lori to just slow down for a little while. She'd been on high alert for nearly a week, what with Hershel's leg and now this. All of the stress wasn't good for her so close to giving birth. She may have even been late—her round belly was far larger than it had been when she was pregnant with Carl.

Hershel shifted on his crutches. "Let's let the girl get some rest—but somebody stay with her in case she wakes up. Carol." He turned his kind blue eyes to the short-haired woman. "She'll want to see a female face when she wakes up, I'm sure. You up for it?"

"Already on it." Carol took his spot on the bench and fixed her gaze on the girl. Hershel motioned with one hand, indicating that Rick and Daryl should leave as well. They complied and went to their respective cells. Rick found Lori and held her while she slept soundly. Maggie and Beth curled up in the room next to their father, finally able to get a good night's sleep. And Carol stayed to keep watch over the newest addition to their group. Everyone was soon in the holds of unconsciousness.

That night at the prison there was peace.

It was sunrise before Windsor stirred.

She was caught up in the strangest dream. She was sitting in a room with cement blocks on the walls—heck, what had she done to end up in prison? And then she was laying on the ground, but not the ground, a bed. She felt a faint tugging sensation in her back that was easy to ignore. Voices buzzed around her, but they too faded easily into the background.

Something warm and soft touched her cheeks, kind of like what her mom used to do to wake her up when she was sick. Windsor snuffled and attempted to rouse herself. Only when something hard thumped against the side of her skull did she find the ability to wake up. When she opened her eyes, she was staring into a brilliant cerulean sky. That blue eventually morphed into two eyes that stared down at her.

The dream soured in an instant. She only knew one person with eyes like that. Color spread outward from the eyes, showing the outline of a person's face. He grinned, smiling wider and wider until it wasn't a smile at all, but a baring of all of his teeth. He raised his right arm, and where the hand should have been, there was nothing but a metal cuff with a blade that glinted wickedly in the sun.

"_Merle?_"

"No!"

Windsor's eyes flew open and she shot into a sitting position. Her body was drenched with sweat as her chest heaved. She blinked a couple of times to adjust her eyes to the bright light of early morning. When her mind caught up with her body, she froze. This was not where she'd fallen. She'd fallen in the common room, but that wasn't where she was now.

She was on a bed in the prison cell. How in the world had that happened? She swung her legs off of the bed and placed them on the floor softly to avoid making noise. Windsor halted, eyes wide.

There was a woman sitting in the cell with her.

The woman's kind face was slack in the throes of sleep. She was sitting limply on a stool with her body leaning back against the juncture of the walls. Short-cropped gray hair was somehow in disarray around her face. Windsor found herself smiling, thanking whatever God was listening that the prison was full of the living, not the dead—otherwise she would be one of the walkers too.

She hoped that it wasn't stupid to trust the woman. But her gut feeling was usually right, and Windsor's instincts told her that the woman was good. If she was malicious, the woman could have stolen her things and killed her while she'd been asleep. No, she was good.

However, she restrained herself and swallowed hard. She had to think here. Too much trust had gotten her in trouble before. It couldn't happen again. Windsor thought quickly through her options.

Option one was what she'd witnessed over and over in Woodbury: kill the woman and run. That was a bad idea for two reasons. The first was that she had no idea where the exit was; the second was that her conscience simply would not allow it. No. She would not be a killer. One single glance at the woman's face made the decision for her.

Option two was to simply run away. However, this wasn't ideal because for once she'd had a night's sleep uninterrupted; surely if this woman wanted to hurt or kill her, she would have while Windsor was asleep. She also glanced to her right and saw that everything was intact, from her shoes to her backpack. Running would be silly at this point, and if she was caught, she might get in trouble.

It would be option three, then: wake the woman up.

The younger girl cleared her throat, hoping the woman would rouse from the noise. When nothing happened, she said timidly, "Ma'am?"

Carol's eyes shot open with the noise. Windsor tensed, ready for anger or an attack. But Carol simply blinked a few times, sat up straight, and said, "I'm not old enough yet to be called 'ma'am'. Call me Carol." Though her words were friendly, it was clear that she was wary of Windsor.

Windsor's smile, though nervous, was genuine. "I'm Windsor."

She looked about herself, then at her pack again. This woman hadn't gone through it, hadn't taken anything. And when she moved her arm experimentally, a lot of the pain was gone. Were those stitches? Had the woman sewed her back up?

That thought frightened her more than anything had up to this point. If someone had given her stitches, then they'd definitely touched her. But when she shifted her body, it appeared that her bra was still in place. There were no new pains along her body. Against all odds, she'd been unharmed throughout the night.

Carol smiled back and rose, stretching her arms above her head. She was oblivious to Windsor's internal struggle. "I'm going to get the others. They'll wanna see this."

Windsor went rigid. "Others?"

The older woman looked down and saw fear in her features. Though the girl must have been sixteen at least, she looked years younger as she shrank back into the wall.

"I won't let anything happen to you." Windsor heard nothing but sincerity in the woman's voice. She nodded cautiously. Carol swung a left and disappeared from sight.

Windsor heard voices start to talk, roused as they were by Carol. She couldn't stop her leg from shaking when she heard many, many footsteps approaching her cell. It was enough that these people had helped her. She didn't want to owe them anything more than what she already did. Her experiences had proven that she couldn't pay any debts—and people got angry when they were duped.

Carol was the first to re-enter the tiny cell. Next came Rick, who held the hand of Lori. Daryl, Glenn, and Maggie filed in after that. Hershel leaned against the doorway while Beth and Carl hovered outside.

Windsor was tense, obviously frightened by the sheer volume of people in the small space, but to her credit, she stayed calm. She let her eyes rove over each individual.

Carol was the furthest one to her right—she'd already seen this kind woman.

"My name is Rick Grimes, and this is Lori." The man named Rick gestured between himself and the beautiful woman standing to his right. Rick's hair was brown, though graying. He was a handsome man. Strangely, Windsor thought to herself that they looked like a good couple. It didn't escape Windsor's notice that they both wore wedding bands and that their hands were interlaced.

"That's Glenn, and Maggie, and Daryl." Glenn was a boyish-looking Asian man with a calm and open stare. He was perhaps the least threatening of them all. Maggie was a pretty woman of maybe twenty-two years, with short-cropped dark hair and green eyes.

And Daryl… Windsor felt her breath catch when she looked at him. He had a sharp jawline and narrowed eyes. His light brown hair was long enough that it reached his eyelashes. He wore a sleeveless shirt that left nothing to the imagination: he had arms that could probably strangle her in two seconds flat. And when she looked into his eyes, she saw cerulean. That shocked her, but she hid her outward reaction as she scanned Hershel, Carl, and Beth.

Once the inventory was complete, she offered another shaky half-smile. "Hi. I'm Windsor Thomas." One of her small hands hung onto the post of her bed; it was the only thing that gaze away her discomfort. Her knuckles were white as snow.

Rick eyed her suspiciously. "And how did you get here, Windsor Thomas?"

Lori gave the hand she was holding a sharp shake. "Rick, please. The girl's obviously confused—"

"This was the deal. She wakes up, we ask questions. That's it."

The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was tensed, on high alert.

Windsor's worried eyes followed the fight for another moment before she broke in. "I don't mind." The two stopped their banter and returned their gazes to her. "You helped me. I owe you my life." She was nothing but sincere as her brown gaze met each of theirs openly.

"Good." Daryl approached her and sat down on the stool. Though she shrank back at his proximity, she didn't flinch away from the unwavering darkness in his face. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I th-think I came in the back way. There's this giant hole in the fence that I came in through—"

"How big? Did anyone else follow you in?"

Windsor shook her head. "I closed it after myself. Figured I didn't want anyone coming in after me. After that, I decided to go into one of the cellblocks. It was full of walkers. I didn't mean to break in, I swear. There were too many for me to fight, and this door was the first one I could open."

Rick nodded absently.

Windsor knew that she had to do something to belie these people's fears. When a new person used to come into Woodbury, there would be a strict interrogation process—one she had a feeling would come soon. But what the newcomers usually never did was tell everyone that they meant no harm.

"I just wanted to say thanks." Nine incredulous pairs of eyes fell on the girl, who looked heavily uncomfortable at all the attention. "And I won't do anything to hurt you. I meant what I said when I said I owed you. I really do."

"You can start payin' off your debt by tellin' me this." Daryl leaned forward eagerly. He watched closely as the girl's face changed drastically as he asked his next question. Her bright gaze went flat and her eyes tightened.

"Who's Merle?"

**AN:** Yes? No? Too fast? Too slow? Let me know. Feedback is always welcome.


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